


Dangerous Game

by wyntera



Series: Hanzo and McCree's Gambling Adventures [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 22:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13984386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntera/pseuds/wyntera
Summary: Vegas doesn't quite go as planned.





	Dangerous Game

When Jesse found out that Hanzo had, in fact, never been to Vegas, he had been delighted. Jesse might not know much about romantic travel destinations like Paris or Venice, but he sure as hell knows his way around the City of Sin. If he’d had the chance he would have whisked Hanzo to the airport and on a flight to America that very night, but he was no longer the brash youth that might have ditched his duties to Overwatch for a weekend of fun. So he quietly researched and planned and asked for time off for himself and Hanzo, all proper and professional-like, even volunteering to work extra to compensate.

All that effort, and this is how Winston repays him.

“Satya, you’ll take up position here, at the bar. Be ready to activate the transporter in the corner of the room if the team needs an escape. You’re certain of the range?”

“Of course,” she replies, leveling Winston with an unimpressed look. “We are well within safe parameters. The exit could be a dozen buildings down the street with no complications.”

He nods and drags a large finger across the casino blueprints to the blackjack tables. “Genji?”

“Yo.”

“You’ll be here. When the target is in position, you’ll need to make a scene. Something that will get the attention of everyone from the surrounding tables.”

“Do not worry. I remember my younger days. I know just what to do.”

A low laugh rumbles from within Hanzo’s chest. “That does not instill much confidence.”

The others chuckle but Jesse just stews from his position by the balcony. Not thirty-six hours ago he and Hanzo were packing for a long weekend of fun and romance, and now their suite is overrun with Overwatch agents. Oh, and Genji, who is currently lounging on the California King. The same California King that Jesse had planned to do wonderfully naughty things to Hanzo on. Seeing his lover’s brother stretched out on the expensive Egyptian cotton thoroughly douses that fire.

As Winston moves on to Hanzo’s roll in the mission, Jesse decides he needs to get some air before he says something harsh. Winston’s words falter when the glass door is jerked open but Jesse does not apologize, pushing it shut behind him with a harsh thud.

Their suite is only halfway up the high-rise, but still high enough for hot desert winds to whip at Jesse’s hair. He tugs his hat down and his serape tighter before fishing for a cigarillo. Lighting it proves difficult. Jesse is about five seconds from throwing the lighter off the balcony toward the pool below when the door behind him eases open and close again. Strong hands come up to cup the end of the cigarillo, blocking the gusts and allowing the tip to flare to life.

Hanzo lets Jesse get much-needed nicotine into his system before speaking. “I do not believe I have ever seen you pout,” he says, both hands gripping the rail before them.

Jesse stares ahead, annoyed. “I ain’t poutin’.”

“You have not said ten words since we arrived, you have sulked in the corner for the past two hours, and you left the mission brief in a huff. What would you call it?”

He has to bite the inside of his cheek before he lets out a scathing retort. Beside him Hanzo sighs and slips his hand into the crook of Jesse’s arm. The move presses their sides together and Jesse leans into the warmth. “Maybe I know if I open my mouth I’m gonna make things worse,” Jesse finally replies.

“Staying angry is making things worse,” Hanzo says. His hand slides down Jesse’s forearm so he can link their hands together, one flesh and one metallic. Hanzo has never shied away from his prosthetic arm, treating it the same even if sensation through the sensors is muted. “We have had to cancel plans before and you’ve never reacted like this.”

“Missin’ dinner down in Gibraltar ain’t exactly the same.” He takes another long draw from his cigarillo and deflates in a puff of smoke. “This was supposed to be different.”

“How so?”

Jesse shrugs a shoulder, still unwilling to look Hanzo in the eye. “Maybe I wanted to treat you right for once. Take you out on the town, show you the sights, have a good time. Really give you what you deserve. Not greasy pizza or take-out and cheap whiskey.”

Hanzo’s tight posture relaxes; Jesse did not even realize Hanzo was tense until the tension is gone. He lifts Jesse’s metal fingers to his lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles. Jesse can just feel the temperature difference of Hanzo’s hot breath. “You are annoyingly sweet, sometimes, cowboy. I appreciate the gesture, but I do not need anything extravagant.” He finally catches Jesse’s gaze with his own. “Your company is far more enticing than any luxury Vegas can offer.”

“Aww, hell, Hanzo,” Jesse fusses, tugging his hat down to hide his blushing face. Not fast enough to miss Hanzo’s cheeky grin. “How’s a man supposed to stay mad when you’re sayin’ stuff like that?”

“You are not.” He lifts Jesse’s arm so it will drape around Hanzo’s shoulders, tucking close to Jesse’s side. “What you are going to do is finish your smoke, go in and apologize to Winston, then get ready for the mission. He feels bad enough for disturbing us.”

Jesse grumbles but nods. “They could’ve at least got their own room.”

Hanzo gives a short hum of agreement and catches a finger in the belt loop at Jesse’s hip. “Let me take care of that. There is no way I am sharing that room with my brother. Only you,” Hanzo says, dropping his voice quieter, as if anyone could possibly hear them, “wearing as little as possible.”

His own words make Hanzo blush, and it’s so endearing that Jesse has to tug him that much closer to press a kiss to his temple. “Best thing I heard all day, sweetheart.” One last puff and he stubs out his cigarillo, tucking it away for later. “Alright, you’ve won me over, flutterin’ those eyelashes of yours.”

That earns him the eye roll he expected. “If you are done, come inside. We need to get dressed.”

“Dressed?”

“Yes, dressed. If you had stuck around and listened to the mission brief, you would know that we will be playing at one of the high roller tables.” Hanzo gives him a warning look. “And if you try to cheat me this time, I’ll throw you off this balcony.”

“What about the other players?” Jesse asks.

Hanzo pauses in opening the balcony door, squinting through the tinted glass. None of the others are looking their way. He looks back at Jesse and smirks. “Anything goes as long as we don’t get caught.”

Jesse grins and falls a little more in love.

 

\---

 

The fine suit that Jesse packed was meant to be worn at dinner the following night. He made reservations over a month ago at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, one that specializes in authentic Japanese delicacies, the sort of food Hanzo has admitted he hasn’t indulged in since he was the Shimada oyabun. As for the clothes, Jesse endured a shopping trip with Lena, Hana, and Satya to pick out the perfect suit. They were both praising and degrading in turns and the experience left him feeling like an oddly confident piece of meat, but in the end they found a suit the four of them could agree on.

Pressing hands down the front of his lapels, Jesse tries to tamp down his resentment that his good suit is being wasted on an Overwatch mission. There is no reason their night should turn to bullets, but with his luck he has low hopes. 

The elevator dings at the bottom floor and he lets out a breath. No more worrying. It’s showtime.

When the elevator doors open Jesse strolls out with all the confidence and swagger of a man who has money to waste and doesn’t care who knows. His boots--black and barely worn, not enough grip on the soles for his liking--click on the marble tile. He draws more than a few eyes his way, including a group of women gathered by the casino doors. A bachelorette party if he were to guess, one of the girls wearing a tiara and sash over her party dress. Jesse tips his hat to her as he passes and smirks to himself when the action leaves them tittering.

Still got it.

The sprawling casino floor is filled with chattering people and loud machines, beeps and bells and musical alarms ringing all over. Jesse makes a note to get Hanzo in front of a slot machine at some point on this trip; something about the thought of the serious archer perched before one of the penny-slots with a bucket of coins like an old lady just tickles something in Jesse’s chest. For now he moves on, weaving his way through to the crowds toward the ornate staircase that leads to a terrace of VIP tables.

He spots Satya by the bar, absolutely resplendent in a fuschia dress that shimmers like a peacock under the colored lights. They make brief eye-contact before she lifts a drink to her lips and her voice sounds in Jesse’s ear.  _ “I have visual on McCree. The poker table left of center has good sightlines of all exits. I recommend taking position while there are spots open.” _

Jesse hums an affirmative and wanders that direction. “Once I sit down there’ll be limited communication.”

_ “Noted.” _

He greets the other players with a howdy and a hat tip as he slides into one of the available seats with his chips. A quick assessment of the table and his competition has him sending a silent thanks to Lady Luck; the other three players are mediocre at best, revealing their tells early and easily distracted by small talk. His only real worry is the omnic to his immediate left. Up until recently omnics were banned from even entering a casino since their internal systems allow for easy card counting and probability assessment. It’s also a hell of a lot harder to cheat an omnic. But this particular one seems more interested in the lady at their side than the game itself.

Average players means Jesse can divide his attention between the game and the room. He stars making note of suspicious individuals, those that might be carrying weapons, those that look out of place in the stylish upscale VIP section. Their target is meeting some unsavory characters that aren’t particularly known for their sophistication. Anyone in an ill-fitting suit or shifty eyes, fidgeting hands or nervous twitching he keeps a close eye on.

Genji enters the scene ten minutes later in a flashy maroon suit and surrounded by an entourage that Jesse has no idea how he picked up. He and Satya share a look of exasperation that they can read from across the room. More people means more unknown variables, and Jesse is going to kick Genji’s ass later for making things more complicated. Still, the ruse does its job; Genji catches plenty of attention, and its not long before the blackjack table is surrounded by people too distracted to notice an Overwatch mission in progress.

He does wonder where Hanzo is. They all separated after the brief, agreeing that it would be best to approach from different angles in case one of them is made. The not knowing makes Jesse itch. He’ll feel much better when he has eyes on the oldest of the Shimada brothers.

Jesse is in the middle of a good hand when Satya cuts through the chatter.  _ “Visual on Hanzo. Try to take the seat opposite McCree. It will give you the best vantage of the south exit.” _

_ “Understood.” _

Jesse feigns ignorance and focuses on his hand even though he wants to twist in his seat and seek out Hanzo. He doesn’t have to wait long, but when he looks up to greet the new person at his table the words die in his throat.

Hanzo looks as if he walked out of a silk painting. Rather than his normal clothes or even a western-style suit, he wears a kimono. Silk and linen, if Jesse were to guess. The main garment is black and cut at sharp angles that accentuate Hanzo’s broad shoulders, but the layers within are snowy white. The contrast with Hanzo’s skin brings out the color in his cheeks, the pink in his lips. Red threads of embroidery accent the ensemble and match the red ribbon in his hair. He greets the others at the table first with a swift bow of his head. Only when he is seated and waiting for the cards to be dealt does Hanzo allow himself to look across the table. “Greetings.”

Inexplicably, Jesse feels a sizzle of nervous anticipation. In a distant part of his mind he realizes that if their lives had taken different turns, in another time, an alternate universe, this might be the first time he met this handsome stranger. If he wanted to be truly poetic, he could say they were always destined to end up sitting across from one another with the potential for more sparking between them. The thought is there and gone as he tips his hat back to appraise the newcomer. “Well, howdy there, handsome. The name’s Jesse. What might I call you?”

Meeting Jesse’s gaze, the faintest hint of a smug smile pulls at his lips. “Hanzo.”

In his chest, Jesse’s heart gives a hard thud. He’s in trouble.

 

\---

 

_ “Could the two of you please tone down the flirting? Some of us have to write a mission report after this and at this rate it will need to be heavily edited.” _

In response to Satya’s flat voice in their ears, Hanzo takes a sip from his drink--a lavender lemon drop martini, which Jesse didn’t even know was a thing but he has been thinking about licking the taste from Hanzo’s tongue for the past twenty minutes--and lets his long fingers play up the stem of the glass in a suggestive stroke. Jesse’s eyes linger on the movement a second too long and nearly misses the dealer asking to show his hand. What he doesn’t miss is the sweep of Hanzo’s other hand and the appearance of another hundred-dollar chip in Hanzo’s pile.

Not long after Hanzo joined the table, a different sort of competition began. A measure of skill, one could say. Theft, Winston would argue. Good thing Winston doesn’t know either way, because he would be mighty displeased to find out just how good Hanzo and Jesse are at slight-of-hand. For every over-the-top compliment and suggestive comment, a card has entered or left the competition or chips have been purloined from their piles. The more blatant the flirtation, the more bold the steal. They’ve been at the table long enough that the players have rotated out twice, and Jesse is running out of pockets to hide his excess chips. He wonders how Hanzo is handling it, if that kimono has extra pockets sewn into the linings, and if he might find out later for himself when he strips the kimono from Hanzo’s body piece by piece.

With that thought in mind, Jesse lays out a heart flush. Hanzo counters with a four of a kind. “Damn, darlin’,” Jesse says, sweeping his hat off his head and placing it over his chest. The dramatic flourish makes it easy to palm one of his neighbor’s chips. “I had a flush until you stole my heart.”

The attractive dusting of pink on Hanzo’s cheeks darkens. “And the pot, cowboy,” he replies, leaning forward to collect his winnings. The others at the table laugh at their antics, and Hanzo lets out a drunken giggle when his long sleeves accidentally knock into the pile of chips belonging to the woman next to him. “My apologies,” he says, swiping another hundred in his attempts to help straighten the mess.

_ “I have visual on the target,”  _ Satya says.  _ “Just entered from the south, brown suit, gold watch, gold chain around his neck. He’s headed for the roulette table.” _

Jesse downs his drink in one go and turns to hand the glass to a passing waitress, using the move to get a look at the mark. “Copy,” he murmurs under his breath and turns back to the group. He and Hanzo make brief eye contact, the subtlest of nods. This is the part of the plan where Hanzo leaves with his winnings, stops to play a quick few rounds of roulette, relieves the target of the highly-sensitive-and-sought-after piece of omnitech supposedly in his pocket that is going for top dollar on the black market, then heads to the cashier cage to cash out. Genji makes a scene to distract the buyer and their goons if they’re already in the room, Jesse watches for anything to go wrong, and Satya handles their escape. In a perfect world, the plan goes off without a hitch.

In this world, as Hanzo begins step one of their flawless plan, four chips tumble out from one of his sleeves and roll across the table.

There is a single, painful moment where Jesse sees the color drain from Hanzo’s face.

“Hey! What the fuck?!” The man in the middle seat lurches over the woman at his side and grabs Hanzo by the arm, jerking him forward hard so the table digs into his ribs. “A fucking cheater!”

Everyone’s eyes turn their way. There is a swell of noise from the crowds around them. Jesse sees casino security already coming their way. He sees Genji’s posture go ramrod straight when the man grabs Hanzo’s arm. He sees Satya jump to her feet, a flash of panic at this unexpected complication. He sees the target turn and stare at their table with mute interest. And he sees Hanzo blank, mouth open but no words coming out, frozen at being caught.

Right. Time to improvise.

“Hey buddy,” Jesse says, and the moment the man turns his head Jesse stands and clocks him right in the face.

 

\---

 

“Tilt your head back.”

Jesse does as he’s told, wincing as Hanzo presses a bag of ice against his face. “It’s almost stopped bleeding,” he says, the tissue shoved in his nose making his voice come out funny.

“Almost is not completely. Here.” Hanzo makes sure Jesse is holding the bag before letting go. He leaves Jesse on the bed and disappears to the bathroom only to return with a damp washcloth. He starts wiping at what bits of Jesse’s face he can reach without disturbing his nose, which has morphed from a swollen red to an angry purple. “I think you broke your nose.”

“I know I broke my nose,” Jesse corrects. “But to be fair, I didn’t break it. That big fella did. Or maybe it was Genji’s elbow. The hit had a familiar sting to it.”

“He has broken your nose before?” Hanzo asks.

Jesse’s eyebrows quirk in amusement even as he keeps his face relatively neutral. It still hurts to move too much at this point. “Twice. For a ninja he’s pretty shit at spacial awareness.”

Their impromptu brawl did a thorough job of distracting the target. Unfortunately it also distracted Genji, who vaulted across the blackjack table to tackle one of the casino security guards trying to force Hanzo’s arms behind his back. In the end Satya had to rob the target and escape with the parcel, and Jesse is not sure if she will ever forgive them for making her reach into someone else’s trouser pocket. The only reason they escaped incarceration was through a lot of luck and a well-timed teleporter. And since they’re booked under aliases, no one at the hotel is the wiser. Not that Jesse will be leaving the room anytime soon with such an obvious injury. Looks like they’ll be missing those reservations after all.

The others are gone from their hotel room now, evicted by Hanzo in a rush of harsh whispers that Jesse had been unable to hear from inside the bathroom. Hanzo lifts the ice pack and checks Jesse’s nose, finally finding that the bleeding has stopped. “I am sorry, Jesse,” he sighs, forlorn.

“Aw, don’t,” Jesse says, shifting the ice pack so he can look at Hanzo while he talks. “Don’t you start.”

“It is my fault you were injured,” Hanzo insists.

“Could’ve easily been me.”

“But it was not.”

Jesse shakes his head. “These things happen. Ain’t no use dwellin’ over it. I’ll be right as rain soon enough, just you wait.” When Hanzo does nothing but frown down at his hands, Jesse sits up, setting the ice aside. He cuts off Hanzo’s fussing by cupping his face with both palms. “Sweetheart, it’s fine. Unless you took a swing at me when I was lookin’ the other way, I’m pretty sure you weren’t the one that clobbered me. I don’t blame you, but if it makes you feel better, you’re forgiven.”

He can tell Hanzo wants to argue, but he swallows it down with a nod. Jesse has started to learn a thing or two about Hanzo Shimada, how laying things out nice and clear does wonders for cutting through the clouds of uncertainty and doubt that sometimes crop up. Hanzo leans forward to kiss Jesse but pauses with their lips inches apart. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“Never too much pain for a kiss from my sugar,” Jesse replies with a strained smile.

Their kiss is light, Hanzo erring on the side of caution. Not at all what Jesse wants, but he’ll take what he can get. They don’t have to make out to have fun, after all. He drags his hands down Hanzo’s neck to the roughed-up kimono to begin peeling off the pieces when he feels suspicious hard discs beneath the fabric. “Wait,” Jesse says, leaning back. “Is that…?”

“Ah, I forgot about those,” Hanzo thinks aloud, looking down at his front where Jesse’s large hands feel out stolen poker chips.

“I’ve still got mine on me, too,” Jesse replies. His smile widens and he reaches out to tug playfully at Hanzo’s obi. “How’s about you and me count our winnings?”

Hanzo’s grin turns coy as he climbs onto Jesse’s lap, and Jesse thinks no matter the count he’s already won.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like that and want more, want to check out my art, or just want to chat, come on by my tumblr! You can find me under username wyntera. And if twitter is more your game, come and join me there, just look for @ThreeCatDesigns.


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